She shook her head. “Even if I mastered it, I could only turn into things that are smaller than me.”
“Tiny sharks and dragons?” said Patch, getting a chuckle from Barver.
“Please,” said Wren. “This is serious.”
“Sorry,” said Patch. “And I’m sorry for earlier.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” she said. “I understand.”
“I really would have tried to talk you out of it,” he said. “I mean, I know Underath said the chance of it going wrong was small, but he would say that, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t the one taking the risk.”
Patch woke in the soft sand without even realizing he’d fallen asleep. He could remember dreams, of his mother looking down at him, smiling – as always – and also of his grandmother, tucking him into bed. He opened his eyes and saw that Barver’s wing was covering both him and Wren, like a tent.
He shuffled out on his front, into bright sunlight. The griffins were nowhere to be seen.
Barver stirred, and opened a sleepy eye. He lifted his outstretched wing and folded it back to his side.
Wren sat up and started to wash her face with the backs of her hands, which she then rubbed behind her ears. She froze, and looked at her fingers. After a moment, she grinned. “It might be a while before I get used to being human again,” she said.
“Good morning,” said Tobias. Patch turned to see that he was on the other side of Barver. “The townsfolk have promised us a good breakfast. We should eat before we set off.”
“We’re leaving?” said Barver.
“I’ve done all I need to for Alkeran,” said Tobias. “He’s clearly out of danger. He may not wake for a day or more, I think, but that’s simple exhaustion. He swallows the water we give him, and beyond that Underath will take care of his friend. There’s no need for us to stay.”
Wren frowned. “I was hoping to talk to Alkeran,” she said. “I wanted to know who the woman who kidnapped him was.”
“What will they do with the body?” asked Barver. “I can’t imagine the townsfolk want her buried here.”
“There’s a place called Sella Doren,” said Tobias. “It’s a graveyard for the lost. The unknown dead. Merta has agreed to take the body there for burial.”
“And did the woman have anything?” said Wren. “Any clues to what she was up to?”
“Come and look,” said Tobias. “But be prepared for disappointment.”
They went to the boatwright’s shed. Merta and Wintel were there, silently watching the sleeping form of Alkeran. Alia was sitting on one of the pitch barrels; Underath was asleep on the floor by Alkeran’s side.
Tobias led Patch, Wren and Barver to the far corner. There, an old piece of sailcloth covered a shape that had to be the body of the unknown woman. Next to the sailcloth was a leather harness, similar to Barver’s, with half a dozen large packs attached. The straps on each pack had been undone.
Tobias spoke softly. “This is Alkeran’s harness,” he said. “The packs mostly contained supplies for a long journey. Here, we have the only unusual item we found.” He reached down and lifted a small brass disc, which opened into two sections when a clasp was pressed.
“A compass?” said Wren, but if that’s what it was, it was the strangest compass they’d ever laid eyes on. There were no markings on the face, and as Wren rotated the device, the needle didn’t turn.
“Water damage, I thought,” said Tobias. “Alia thinks there may be more to it. But look at the cover again.” He closed the disc, and showed them: engraved on the surface was a simple drawing, a circle containing several lines. “And now look at her wrist…” he said, and he moved back the canvas to reveal the dead woman’s arm. On the wrist was a tattoo, of precisely the same shape.
“A bird’s foot, maybe?” suggested Wren.
“Is it a tree root?” said Barver.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Tobias. “I told you to be ready for disappointment. The lady is a mystery, for now.”
Then a call from Alia got everyone’s attention: “Quickly!” she cried. “I think Alkeran is waking!”
“Get back!” ordered Underath. “Give him room!”
The griffin’s eyes opened, taking in the faces gathered around. Alkeran flinched.
“Step back a little more,” said Alia. “You’re crowding him. You too, Barver.”
Alkeran tried to speak, but started coughing instead. Underath held a bucket of fresh water for him, and he drank. Sated, he looked up again.
“The boy…” said Alkeran. “The boy needs to know…”
Alia, Tobias and Underath all turned and looked at Patch, absolute confusion on their faces, but Patch could tell that Alkeran wasn’t looking at him.
Alkeran was looking above Patch’s head. He was looking at Barver.
Barver stared back. “Needs to know what?” he said.
“That I wish it had been your father who survived, and not me.” Alkeran had another fit of coughing, and took another drink.
“How do you know who I am?” Barver asked.
“You are called Barver, and you are obviously a dracogriff,” said Alkeran. “I think that narrows it down! Your father spoke of you often, lad.” He coughed again. “You see, before I called myself Alkeran, I had another name. I was called Tundin Wrass.”
Barver’s eyes widened. “You were the other pilot in the fleet.”
“Yes,” said Alkeran. “I was with your father when he died. A storm came from nowhere, and a wave caught me unawares. Vast and merciless, it threw me into the hull of the pride of our fleet. The crew managed to drag me aboard, dazed. For an hour, Gaverry piloted the fleet alone. He…” Alkeran began to cough again, more violently this time.
“Enough talking, my friend,” said Underath. “You must rest.”
“I’ve heard the story,” said Barver. “Lightning hit him. He vanished beneath the waves…”
“Yes,” said Alkeran, ignoring Underath’s protests. “I left the safety of the ship and flew to where he’d vanished. I tried, in that awful tempest, to find him. But I could not. He was gone. By then I’d lost sight of the fleet. The next I knew, I woke at the entrance to a cave with a collar around my neck, chained. Food was plentiful, within the reach of the chain. Rabbits, unnaturally slow and easy to catch. Fish, that appeared for me each morning. But no warden, no jailer. No one to ask the reason for my imprisonment. I was there alone for two years, until the ground shook with such violence that the roof of my cave collapsed. Badly injured, I managed to crawl from the debris, and found that the falling rocks had sheared through my chain. I flung myself from the clifftop into the sea, desperate to escape my prison – alive or dead! Yet I was found, and saved, and a new life began, a good life.” He turned to Underath and took his hand, smiling. “Yet it was a life I felt I did not deserve. I had no loves, no children. Gaverry had a wife and a son. He had you. That is why I wish it had been your father who survived, and not me.”
Underath shook his head. “You did all that could be asked of you, and more,” he said.
With great effort, Alkeran raised his head from the floor, and caught sight of the sad spectacle in the corner – the woman’s body, her arm still visible. “She’s dead, then,” he said.
“She deserves no sympathy, my friend,” said Underath. “She almost killed us both.”
Alkeran looked sorrowful nonetheless. “She was lost, Underath. Driven towards darkness, like you once were.”
“Why did she take you?” asked Wren, eager for answers.
“To find the place where I’d been held prisoner. She sought an object hidden there, some treasure that was everything to her. She had a device, like a compass, to help her. I was under her control, utterly, but she talked to me even so. The device, she explained, could find the places I had been, at any time in my past. And so I held it, and together we searched, but the compass led us only to empty sea. She would alter the device and we would try again. Day after day. Week after week. She k
ept pushing, until we were both exhausted. After a day of solid flying my wings gave way. We fell from the sky, far out to sea. I remember hitting the water, but nothing more until now. Whatever drove her, it drove her to madness. Her belief in the compass was unbreakable.”
“And did she have a name for the place she sought?” asked Alia. Visibly weak, Alkeran’s head dropped back to the floor and he started to cough again. Alia was about to repeat her question, but Underath’s glare stopped her.
Yet Alkeran had one last thing to say: “She called it the Bestiary,” he managed, and then his breathing grew slow and steady, as he fell into a deep sleep once more.
The townsfolk, as promised, delivered an excellent breakfast of rice and fish, together with a large kettle of dardy-root tea. It would set them up for the journey back to Ural Casimir’s mansion.
As they ate, Barver seemed distant.
“Are you okay?” Wren asked him.
“Hardly,” muttered Barver. “For so long after my father’s death, I knew almost nothing about what happened to him. Yet in the space of weeks, I’ve learned the truth and now met an eyewitness.” He looked at Patch and Wren. “It worries me,” he said. “As if…”
Alia had overheard them, and approached. “As if there’s magic at work?” she said. “Perhaps there is.” She looked over to the boatwright’s building. “Dark magic, at that. Pulling us towards…something.” She shook her head and walked off.
“I’m so glad she was here to ease our fears,” said Patch, and that at least earned a smile from Wren and Barver.
Merta and Wintel would stay in Pardissan for a few more days, to help Underath should he need it, allowing Cramber to set off with the fishing fleet. The townsfolk had lost enough good fishing weather, and were eager to get back to the sea.
Farewells were said.
“It was an honour to work with you,” Underath said to Alia, and the compliment didn’t seem to stick in his throat at all. He did seem changed, Patch thought. He whispered as much to Wren, and she agreed.
“A little humbling can work wonders for a sense of empathy,” she whispered. “Let’s hope his head doesn’t swell up to its old size, now that his powers have come back.”
Alia, in return, thanked Underath. “You know,” she said, “I expected to completely dislike you. You sounded like a horrible man. Instead, you’ve actually been tolerable company.”
Barver shook the hands of each of the griffins. “I wish we had longer,” he said. “I’ve hardly spent any time with griffins, not since my dad died.”
Merta smiled. “Once we’re done here, perhaps I’ll drop in and see you. Will you be in the same place long?”
“On the hill above Yarmingly?” said Barver. “For a while, at least. I’ll keep my eye on the horizon.”
“And you are welcome to visit my home in Sullimer Forest,” she told him. “The forest is vast, but you can spot Sullimer Knife easily enough. A mountain ridge near the coast. Find that, and you’ll find me.”
The high windways were kind to them. The skies were clear, and it was only a few hours before the coastline near Yarmingly came into view.
Erner and Rundel emerged from the mansion entrance as Barver touched down. Erner hurried out to them, so keen for news that he’d already called out, “How did it go?” before he’d noticed the most important fact:
There was one more human passenger than they’d left with.
The moment Erner saw Wren, he let out a great cheer. “Things went well,” said Alia, smiling. “As you can see.”
“The Sorcerer undid his mischief, then?” called Rundel, limping slowly towards them.
“He did,” said Alia. “And without complaint or resistance. His griffin is recovering, his power is restored, and Wren is cured. A more successful trip is hard to imagine.”
Tobias peered rather closely at Rundel’s face. “You look pale,” he said. “Have you been eating well?” He turned to Erner immediately, as if he didn’t expect honesty from his old friend. “Did he eat well, Erner?”
“Mainly cheese,” said Erner.
Tobias frowned. “Oh, Rundel, how do you expect your condition to improve if you don’t eat properly? I said before we left, there’s plenty of dried beef and turnips, easy to boil up for a delicious soup.”
“We had no time to cook,” said Rundel, irritable. “My contact at Tiviscan sent us an extensive update on the activities of the Council and events elsewhere. We’ve spent our time studying what was sent.”
Alia shared a worried look with Tobias. “Has something happened?” she said, and everyone knew what she meant: has the Hamelyn Piper attempted some new horror?
Rundel shook his head. “Not in the way you mean, but the news is not encouraging.”
In the dining room, the surface of the huge table was covered in papers and scrolls.
Rundel selected a few of the papers and began to speak. “The Great Pursuit of the Hamelyn Piper continues, but with no sign of actual progress. They are hunting shadows, as we feared. And there’s still been no word from Lord Drevis.” He looked to Barver. “I’m aware that there’s a message you wish to pass on to him, but at the moment his whereabouts are a mystery. The Pipers’ Council is much in need of his leadership…it’s not like him to be out of contact.”
“Drevis may have picked up a trail,” said Alia. “If he’s close to finding the Hamelyn Piper, it might explain the lack of word.”
“It might,” said Rundel. “But the Council continues to pull Custodians out of their normal activities to aid in their quest. And now all Custodian Delegates have been called back to Tiviscan!”
This brought a gasp of shock from Alia and Tobias, and Patch knew why: there were Custodian Delegates in many nations of the world, especially those prone to wars, famine or disease. The wisdom and guidance of the Delegates had saved countless lives through the years.
“Are they fools?” said Tobias.
“Perhaps,” said Rundel. “The Council claims that any disruption will be limited. Wait, I have it here…” He opened out a scroll and read from it: “The people of all nations are behind us, as one. The Hamelyn Piper is the greatest threat we face, and only with the efforts of all the rulers of these lands can we ensure that peace holds and evil is vanquished.” He rolled the scroll up again.
“The sooner Lord Drevis returns, the better,” said Alia. “If the rest of the Council think that some kind of spirit of togetherness is going to make up for the loss of the Custodian Delegates, they certainly are fools.”
Rundel nodded, and his expression was dark. “The Delegates work hard to talk leaders out of stupid and selfish decisions, choices that could lead to disaster. Without the Delegates, without anyone to stop those mistakes…I dread to think what may happen.” He shook his head, exasperated, and threw the papers back to the table. The action uncovered another document, a wide sheet of paper with a map drawn on it. Rundel saw it and picked it up. “Hah! A good example of the chaos that may come – the squabbles in the Ortings have worsened!”
“The ghostly army nonsense?” said Tobias.
“The same,” said Rundel. “More attacks against travellers and traders, day after day across the central region, all blamed on a small group of supposedly ghostly soldiers.”
“It’s probably just smugglers,” said Alia. “Using legends as cover, like the bandits of Gemspar. Having some supernatural tales to scare folk off comes in very handy if you don’t want them poking around. I’m sure it’s nothing very serious.”
“But it is serious,” said Rundel. “People have died in those attacks, and the countries of the Ortings are close to threatening war with each other. The report is here somewhere…” He hunted through the scrolls again. “Ah ha!” he said, opening one and reading directly from it: “The Ortings is a huge area of woodland that overlaps two countries, Gastyl and Pard, who have been at war on and off throughout history. For a century the region has been calm, but peace is now under threat. The Ortings is rife with superstition
and legend; the most famous is of ghostly armies that haunt the forests. In recent weeks, there have been many attacks on traders; survivors have spoken of ghostly soldiers, led by a general in black armour. This figure has become known as the Black Knight. Law enforcement officers have also been attacked: ten of the Gastyl Royal Guard and eight of the Pard Watch were killed. The enforcers of both countries have pulled their patrols back from the borders. Both Gastyl and Pard called on the Custodian Elite to assist them; the Custodians said they would only help when the Great Pursuit of the Hamelyn Piper is concluded.” Rundel set the scroll down, shaking his head in despair. “It may be too late by then. Gastyl thinks the ghostly attackers are really Pard soldiers; Pard thinks they are soldiers of Gastyl. Both countries are wealthy enough to buy extra soldiers and prepare for war – there are rumours of mercenaries heading for the region in large numbers.”
“And all because of the Great Pursuit,” said Tobias. “I’m sure the Hamelyn Piper would be very pleased with that. Even in hiding, he’s still causing chaos.”
Rundel and Erner summarized the rest of what they’d heard from Tiviscan – a long roster of countries where Custodian Delegates had already been removed from service, as well as details of the various expeditions that had been sent out.
Barver curled up on the floor, tired and aching from all his recent flying. From time to time he started to snore, and Patch nudged him with his foot to get him to stop.
When Rundel and Erner finished, Tobias insisted on cooking a proper meal before they resumed their work in the Caves. “There’s a sack of dried dermy beans in the kitchen,” he said. “Dermy bean and onion stew, on its way within the hour!”
Patch had an image of Barver’s fiery belch incinerating all the papers on the table. “No onions!” he said.
Tobias frowned. “What? The onions are the best part!”
“Trust me,” said Patch. “The onions don’t agree with Barver.”
“I can vouch for that,” said Alia. “Are they unusual onions, Tobias?”
“Pickled in hedge-beet vinegar,” said Tobias. “Gives them a real oomph.”
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 13